


Irondad Ending in Platonic Cuddles

by Kevy_Grayce



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, IronDad and SpiderSon, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Platonic Cuddling, Precious Peter Parker, Sensory Overload, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28312578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kevy_Grayce/pseuds/Kevy_Grayce
Summary: A bunch of angsty Irondad Spiderson one shots that end in platonic cuddles because it's what they deserve!
Relationships: Irondad & Spiderson - Relationship, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 30
Kudos: 171





	1. Touch Deprivation: When in Doubt, Hug it Out

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays all you lovely people!! Here's the extra one shot I promised and over time, I'll be adding to it :) The one shots won't be connected, but they'll all be in the same universe! This also won't have a regular update schedule like When Trauma Comes Knocking, this is more of a cathartic, venting series that I'll add to whenever the mood hits me <3
> 
> This first one is about touch deprivation or starvation, which I'm sure all of us can relate to in these times ;-;
> 
> TW // as the tags say, we delve into anxiety-related topics so please be careful if you're sensitive to the topic!!
> 
> Have fun and stay safe🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜

Peter sits on the edge of the sixteen story building, feet dangling towards the street below as cars inch their way through the lunchtime traffic. Golden beams of the midday sun reflect in his lenses, but he doesn’t feel their warmth.  _ It’s not the same. _ He sighs and a cloud of steam floats through the crisp, winter air.

“May has texted you that she won’t be able to make it home tonight for dinner,” Karen softly relays the message. “Her shift has been extended.” Peter closes his eyes and focuses on the chilled breeze.

“I know.” For once, his voice is ladened with defeat and acceptance. This has been the usual for the past few months. May has to work extra shifts to keep up with the ever-increasing bills, he has school and Spider-Man, mix those two together and they’ve seen each other for a total of four hours in the past week. He’s been counting. He knows keeping track isn't a good sign, but what else is there to do? 

“Peter?” Karen’s voice reaches him through the deep thoughts. Peter opens his eyes and hums a response.

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?” He considers the question. Ned and MJ have been asking him that a lot lately, but he hasn’t quite found a good way to answer it. He just…doesn’t know how he feels. He’s not sure he  _ does _ feel. He just kind of exists.

“I miss…people,” he settles on. It doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t feel wrong, either. Feelings are difficult and he doesn’t have the energy to decipher them. Instead, he pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. The pressure against his chest feels nice. Comforting, even.

“You saw MJ and Ned today,” Karen gently reminds, trying to coax more out of him without pushing it. Peter takes in another deep breath before shrugging.

“I miss May,” he finds he’s able to clarify. He loves his friends, but coming home to an empty house for two months straight is different. If it weren’t for patrols and workshop days, he’d go stir crazy over the break.

“You had dinner with her last night,” Karen attempts, her voice sweeter than usual. “That was nice.” Peter continues to stare at the pedestrians as they cross the street in hordes.

“The only reason we ate together was because we both got home at 2am and had leftover Chinese takeout,” he counters without much thought. Even to his own ears his voice is monotonous. He feels like he lost a part of himself, but it makes him feel selfish. May’s working hard to make sure they can get by and he’s a bit lonely.

Either way, last night was a rough patrol and he ended up unceremoniously climbing through the window at 2:13am all battered and bruised. That’s all he’s gotten recently. Nothing but punches to the face, kicks to the stomach, bruises to the ribs, blood coating his hands. Nothing but violence. He hasn’t had a single, positive touch in two months. No hugs, no loving hand rubbing his back, no lingering touch in his hair, no gentle thumb smoothing over his palm. Nothing but violence violence viole-

“Peter, your alarm is going off.” Karen’s voice pulls him back once more, and it takes him a moment to process what she just said.

“Hm?” He blinks sluggishly, then unfurls his warm legs from his chest, already missing the pressure.

“It’s time to head to the workshop,” Karen patiently provides, an absolute saint as usual.  _ Oh,  _ Peter thinks,  _ it’s already four. _ It doesn’t feel like 4pm, but he can’t exactly argue with time and space. Rolling out his stiff, aching shoulders, he lazily flings out a web and starts swinging to the Tower. He just goes through the motions:  _ thwip,  _ double tap to release,  _ thwip,  _ double tap to release.

And, in what feels like the blink of any eye, he’s there. His muscles are taut and trembling from the frigid air, but when he slips inside one of the countless windows, the warmth from the Tower at least helps minutely. As soon as he’s clear, he pulls off the mask and breathes in fresh, spandex-free air. His teeth chatter and he warms his arms up with his hands, but besides that he’s no worse for wear.

“Hey, Fri? Where’s Mr. stark?” he asks through chattering teeth hidden behind blue-tinted lips.

“He's down in the shop. I’ve alerted him to your arrival,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. promptly replies and he nods a quick thanks. First, he goes to his room to change into normal clothes, then catches a ride down the elevator. His lips are more of a peach color again, but his teeth still clack against each other as his body tries to generate some warmth.  _ Stupid spiders with their no thermoregulation. _ The elevator comes to a halt and he walks into the music-ridden, always-bustling workshop.

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” he shouts over both the welder and the guitar solo. Tony’s head pops up and the music lowers at the wave of his hand.

“Hey, kid,” he greets, lifting his goggles with a smile. “How’s your bumps and bruises.” Peter shrugs, hardly remembering the superficial injuries from last night’s fight, before sitting on the nearby stool.

“Don’t really feel them anymore,” he answers honestly as he rubs his hands together. Feeling is hard these days. Tony raises a curious eyebrow, then sets down his tools and saunters over to the teen.

“And is that because of the super spidey healing or the ice cubes you call fingers?” he inquires casually. Peter glances up and tries to put on his best I’m-really-not-in-the-mood-for-this face. Nonetheless, Tony chuckles at the expression. “Alright, alright, just get warm at least.”

“I’m trying.” Peter looks back down as he responds, but then an unexpected touch has him freezing in place, muscles tense.

“Jeez, bud, you’re frozen,” Tony mutters aloud as he rubs Peter’s hands in his own to provide more warmth. It takes more than a few seconds for Peter to register what's happening. But when he does, he slowly looks up at Tony as the man continues to warm the cold hands in his own. For some reason, it makes Peter want to cry. The hands are gentle, carefully moving back and forth and all he can focus on is that it doesn’t  _ hurt _ . After months of nothing but agony and breaks and blood, there’s finally something full of love and support.

He closes his eyes and his eyebrows pull together…and he starts to cry. He doesn’t mean to, but the tears slip out in a mix of relief and pent-up devastation. His toes curl under in an attempt to regain control, but it’s already too late.

“Peter? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Tony suddenly questions when he sees the tears and Peter’s distraught expression. All Peter can manage is the shake of his head, causing tears to fall from his chin and onto his jeans. He should’ve been more prepared, but he wasn’t expecting the concerned tone or the protective hands encasing his. He didn’t realize he was touch deprived until Tony held his hands, the first positive touch he’s had in two months.  _ Two months. _ “I need you to talk to me so I can help,” Tony tries to get through to him, kneeling at his level.

“I- I don’t-“ is as far as Peter gets before a sob cuts him off. He wants to curl up in a ball and never face the outside world again. It’s like his armor has cracked and the cruel reality of just how brutal and heartless the world can be is flooding in. It’s breached completely when one of Tony’s hands leaves his and cups his cheek.

He doesn’t hold back the sobs after that.

He simply cries, leaning into the soft touch and grabbing his mentor’s wrist like a lifeline. The thought of losing the contact now is unbearable. He can’t. He just can’t. At the action, Tony seems to catch on. This time, he pulls Peter into his chest and holds the kid tightly in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he assures into Peter’s curls, “I got you.” Peter feels them begin to rock and a hand rubs its way up and down his back in a comforting, predictable motion. He pulls in shuddering, uneven breaths, but his body isn’t ready to calm down. Instead, he grips Tony’s sleeves and buries his head in his chest so that his sobs are muffled by fabric. All the built up emotions force their way out, but being hugged is all he needs. Warm, strong arms keeping him safe. His cries rip Tony apart at the seams and he wonders how he could’ve missed this. It’s a basic human need to have positive, physical affirmation, something Peter evidently hasn’t had for a while.

The hug eases the aching in Peter’s chest and he holds on tighter. He can’t lose this  _ feeling  _ again. After all these weeks of apathy and going through the motions, he’s finally able to feel everything.

“I can't- there’s no-“ Tony gently hushes him, afraid that the teen will work himself into a panic attack if this keeps up. Honestly, it’s the last thing on Peter’s mind. He just knows he doesn’t want to be let go.

“Deep breaths, kiddo,” Tony patiently encourages. Peter can feel him shift and he registers that they somehow made it to the floor while he was focused on gripping the fabric closer.  _ Breathing,  _ Peter recalls,  _ breathing is important. Gotta breathe. Just have to- _ He takes a deep, shaking breath, but the exhale becomes a sob and he just can’t pull himself together and he  _ hates _ it and he just wants to be in  _ control _ again- “I’m so proud of you.” He starts at the quiet, genuine admission. “I’m unbelievably proud of you,” Tony continues. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time. Sometimes strength is asking for help when it’s tough.” Peter’s chin wobbles and fresh tears glide down his cheeks. He nods into Tony’s shoulder, and pulls his legs to his chest for extra comfort.

“It’s, it’s been tough for a while,” he divulges in a hoarse whisper.

“I know, kid,” Tony acknowledges, lightly combing his fingers through Peter’s hair.

“I didn’t,” the teen confesses in a whisper. He really hadn’t seen any of this coming. “I thought I was okay. I, I thought I was fine just doing what I,” he swallows, “what I was doing. I didn’t think it affected me this much. It was just…I didn’t feel anything.” Apathy was probably a more apt description, but it was true. He hadn’t felt any intense emotion in such a long period of time that Tony’s loving, concerned action sent him into overdrive. Tony lets out a deep breath and rests his chin atop Peter’s head, tucking the kid into him to provide as much comfort as possible.

“From a scientific standpoint, lack of human contact decreases cortisol levels and NK cells,” Tony points out. It might seem like a cold and calculating response, but he knows what he’s doing; he’s putting it into perspective for Peter. He’s showing the kid that it isn’t just all in his head. It’s a physical change to a lack of touch. Peter let’s put a breathless chuckle, his wound up muscles starting to relax into the hug.

“A, uh, a hug needs to last at least twenty seconds for dopamine and serotonin to be released. Happy brain chemicals,” he adds with a sniff, closing his eyes. He just needs a moment to take it all in. It’s rare for Tony to be the one to illicit physical contact, so he accepts it while can.

“Well then,” Tony softly starts, “guess we gotta wait til you have enough happy brain chemicals.” He situates them more comfortably on the floor, then tightens his hold. Another trembling breath escapes Peter, emotions still raw and superficial, but manageable. It's a start, and if that start just so happens to be in Tony’s arms, maybe it’s not such a bad one.


	2. Intrusive Thoughts: A+ for Existing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to continuously whumping Peter for no particular reason other than we all want to see it :') Today's agenda is intrusive thoughts and a hint of sensory overload! And thank you so much for all the support so far, youre all super sweet!!
> 
> TW// if you're sensitive to Peter's guilt complex, intrusive thoughts, sensory overload, or anxiety attacks, please proceed with caution <3
> 
> Have fun and stay safe🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜

Of course, during the weekend before finals, Peter's mind can't stop focusing on what he doesn't want to focus on. As he tries to study for anatomy, he somehow finds his head wandering back to psychology like a broken record, trying to decipher the same information that isn't too important in the grand scheme of things.

_The rebel wants to change what's not working, reform, fix. I like fixing. I fix. Like Mr. Stark fixes. Fear is to be ineffectual. But the desire of the rebel is revenge. I don't want that. I don't do… The caregiver wants to protect everyone. I want to protect. What if I can't protect everyone? What if I can't get there in time? What if they-_ To be honest, he's losing his patience far quicker than he would on a normal day. Between his packed AP Finals schedule, patrols, workshop days, his annoying intrusive thoughts, and that damn leaking faucet down the hall, he's about ready to rip his hair out.

_The first cranial nerve is Olfactory, a sensory nerve passing through the cribriform plate of the eth-_ He grips his hair between his fingers, hands trembling and knuckles going white, when he can hear a leaf blower at ground level. He's on the 48th floor.

Deep breaths. Just focus. Passes through the cribriform plate of the ethmoid bone and sends information ab- He jumps when a car alarm starts blaring and just about hurls his anatomy textbook out the window. Ripping his earbuds out, roughly sets them down on the coffee table and rocks slightly with his head in his hands. The motion is soothing and always helps to ground him when the world starts to careen out of his control. He focuses on breathing and not letting his emotions get the better of him. What he doesn't need is to lose his temper at the Tower or have full blown sensory overload. For now he simply lets the rocking do the trick. He ends up wiggling his toes, pressing them into the soles of his shoes over and over without even realizing it. Trying so desperately to keep ahold of his frustrations, his mind begins to wander back to psych class.

_The hero wants to prove they're worthy. Courageous. I have to prove I can do it, I just don't know how. Every time I try I- The hero's greatest fear is weakness, vulnerability, failure, failure, failure-_

"Hey, kiddo. How's the studying goin'? Decide on what you wanna order? Pizza? Burgers? Shawarma?" Peter continues his rocking despite Tony's sudden voice. Though, it does cut off _the neverending string of thoughts that tend to take over at any second- Wait, no, that's the wrong word. Threaten. The neverending string of thoughts that threaten to take over. Threaten. Threaten. Threaten. The neverending string of thoughts that threaten-_ "You good?" Tony's confused, yet more attentive, voice interrupts again. Peter gains enough clarity to realize his legs are now bouncing rapidly, giving away his nervous energy. He's able to grasp on to the most honest, blunt answer he's probably ever given.

"No, I'm _not,"_ he answers through grit teeth to keep his frustration at bay. The straightforward answer must momentarily shock Tony into inaction because he can feel his mind begin to wander again and he vaguely realizes he needs to keep himself grounded. _Feel the couch, my hair, my shoes, don't forget to breathe, but breathing is too much work I don't want-_

"Okay…can I sit?"

_What kind of question is that? It's his house he doesn't need to ask me. He doesn't need permission._

"I just wanted to make sure." Peter's anxiety-ridden movements come to a jarring halt. He's talking out loud and he doesn't even realize it. His grounding techniques aren't working. He's losing control. The couch dips and one of Peter's legs resumes its bouncing. "Do you want to talk about it?" _What I want is my brain to just stop for one second I don't want to think anymore I just want it to stop._ This time there's a lack of response, and Tony feels way out of his depth. Fast-paced anxiety attacks he can do, but this? He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. "Is it alright if I touch you?" He knows firsthand that sometimes he would rather pour boiling water over himself than have someone try to comfort him through touch when he's distressed, so he isn't all that surprised when Peter shakes his head.

_That'd be too much. Too much input and feeling and hearing and thinking and-_

"Overstimulated," he suddenly stumbles on. "Overstimulated and my brain won't stop." He desperately wants to explain it more than that, but even his own voice grates on his nerves. The fact that he can't articulate what's going on grates on his nerves. That damn _faucet._

"Alright, I getcha, bud," Tony gently assures, noticing the huff of frustration from the teen and the self-reliant rocking picking back up. The motion is predictable, unlike his mind, so it's comforting. It quells the anxiety. Tony bites the inside of his cheek, not wanting to reveal what he's about to reveal, but his kid is more important. "Do you think a weighted blanket would help?"

"Weighted blanket? Why do you have a weighted blanket? I haven't-" Peter cuts himself off this time. He didn't mean to say all that out loud. It just kind of happened, like there's a disconnect between his mouth and his brain. "Mr. Stark, my arms are getting cold," he says before he truly processes it, completely blowing past Tony's previous question. Before Tony can respond, he barrels on. "When the body goes into fight-or-flight, blood pools at the center of the body to preserve vital organs, making the extremities feel cold," he all but recites. Tony then notices how quickly the kid's face begins to pale.

"Easy, kid, deep breaths," Tony urges, panic settling into his voice as he kneels directly in front of Peter. "I'm gonna need you to slow your breathing down a bit, okay?" Peter nods rapidly, wondering when he lost complete control of his breathing. Last time he checked he wasn't breathing and now he's breathing too _fast_ and _nothing is making sense and-_ "In through your nose, out through your mouth. C'mon, with me. In, out. In, there ya go, out." Peter does his best to follow his mentor's instructions, even though his gasping breaths don't feel like they're bringing any oxygen with them.

"Anxiety attack," Peter connects the dots again. "Too much, too much input." Tony nods encouragingly, wanting nothing more than to pull Peter into a hug.

"You're doing great, Peter. Do you need anything?" He doesn't know what to do, but he wants to help somehow.

"Existing is hard," Peter says as if nothing was asked, yet Tony's pained expression softens.

"Yeah…but I'm real proud of you for existing anyways. Even when it's rough." Peter nods, face scrunching up with a complex mix of emotions that he can't pinpoint.

"I, I think I'm ready for that hug now," he admits, voice cracking as the pressure of it all finally takes its toll. Tony doesn't hesitate to pull the kid into his arms as he cries it out, wrapped safely in his mentor's hold, still vibrating just under the surface. It doesn't take the anxieties away, but it certainly helps Peter regain some of his control. His leg stops bouncing, he doesn't feel cold anymore, and his brain doesn't feel like it's moving at a million miles a minute. Breathing still shaking and labored, he rests his head on Tony's chest as his mentor leans them into the couch.

"You can't keep putting this much pressure on yourself, Underoos. School isn't the be-all end-all," Tony carefully tries to reason with the workaholic high schooler. Peter lets out a breathy chuckle as tears slide down his cheeks.

"Says the guy who graduated MIT at my age," he reminds without hesitation, wiping his eyes. If anything, he feels behind for someone so often being referred to as a genius. Not like Tony, who was running an entire corporation at 21.

"And that got me nothing but a slip of paper and hell in a handbasket. Shitty social skills, independent to a fault, zero responsibility. Trust me, kid, you don't want to force yourself to grow up too fast." Tony sighs, his hand lightly resting in Peter's hair. Peter welcomes the touch, closing his eyes, and considers Tony's point. Maybe he has been putting too much pressure on himself.

"Hey, Mr. Stark?" he mumbles, light from the arc reactor casting a glow on his face.

"Hm?" Tony focuses on gently carding his hand through Peter's hair, carefully undoing the occasional knot.

"You're the best." Peter feels the hand still momentarily, then it continues.

"Then you haven't met you yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying s o hard not to end with the usual "Peter gets comfort and says thank you" even though that's my gut instinct lol but I had a lot of fun with this!! Sometimes you're r e a l l y not in the mood to be touched and I wanted to portray that :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜
> 
> If you'd like to keep up to date on upcoming fics and get sneak peeks, feel free to follow one of my accounts!
> 
> Instagram: kevy_fanfics  
> Tumblr: kevyfanfics  
> Twitter: Kevy_Fanfics


	3. Anxiety: Paradigm Shift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Midnight update!! It's 12am my time and just felt like publishing a chapter :) we all need a bit of irondad hurt-comfort right before bed <3 Hope you enjoy, and thank you all so much for the support!
> 
> TW // anxiety and mild intrusive thoughts!!
> 
> Have fun and stay safe🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜

Anxiety is a vicious beast. It takes the smallest things, a misplaced look, a different word, a lack of context, and makes a mountain out of a molehill. Suddenly that tone of voice isn't distraction, it’s  _ disinterest _ . That quick sign-off isn't being busy, it’s  _ not caring _ . That frustration aimed at something else is aimed at  _ you  _ and your mind buzzes with a million different scenarios. Did you say something wrong? Should you have listened better? Should you have  _ been  _ better? And you want to take everything back. But you can't. Neither can Peter. He should have just listened.

_ “Don't engage, Parker.” _

He should have heeded the warning.

_ “Peter, I said do  _ not _ engage!” _

But he didn't.

_ “I said stop!” _

And now he’s sat in his room, head in his hands, heart hammering in his chest, wondering if Tony will ever want to talk to him again. He knows it’s an irrational thought, but it isn't enough to quell the copious amounts of anxiety sprawling through his stomach. He  _ hates _ that feeling. The same kind of feeling he’d enjoy while falling a bit longer during a swing, but this one wraps its overwhelming clutches around his lungs and squeezes without remorse. And now the thoughts won't stop.

_ He’s not gonna want me to come to the workshop tomorrow. I screwed up. He didn't just get mad, he got  _ livid. _ I let him down. He just wanted to do what was best for me, make sure I was okay, and I ignored him. I should've taken his word for it. I'm so stupid.  _ He squeezes his eyes shut, painfully gripping his hair as tears slip out and drip onto his knees, soaking into the fabric. He can't focus on anything. Every time his phone buzzes, he looks up only to be disappointed that it isn't Tony. It’s driving him insane, and he's practically letting it. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin atop them.

He's not even mad about what happened, bumps and bruises he could take all day long, but the way Tony was short with him is what hurt. Tony only spoke if he had to.

_ “Get cleaned up.” _

No elaboration, no emotion, no nothing.

_ “Happy’s taking you home.” _

Distancing himself as much as possible.

_ “G’night.” _

And Peter could tell he was trying not to lose it. He could take the anger, he  _ wanted _ that anger, but all he got was exasperation. He let Tony down. He expected more. He expected better. Instead, he got Peter. He finds himself zoning out a few times, rerunning the situation through his head and even conjuring up possible what-if scenarios. Of arguments where Tony says things that Peter knows he would never say, but he thinks of them all the same.

_ “I can't do this anymore.” _

Disappointment.

_ “Get out.” _

Rejection.

_ “Don't bother coming back.” _

Isolation.

And all because he didn't listen.

Somewhere amidst the overwhelming thoughts, the sun starts to rise. There are dark rings around his half-lidded eyes, a flushed face, and a pit in his stomach. He looks to his phone against his better judgement…and he wishes he hadn't. No messages from Tony, but could he blame him? God, he just wants to curl up in a ball and cry. May’s out doing a recertification for a majority of the day, so technically he could. He wishes he had the energy to move. Fresh tears drop off his nose.

“This sucks,” he whispers to himself, curling tightly into the sheets.  _ This is on me. I dug my own grave. Now I have to lie in it. _ And so he does, crying himself to sleep with thoughts of letting down his mentor again.

The next time he wakes isn't to May’s soft voice, but a harsh puzzling from his nightstand. Without bothering to check the screen, he blindly reaches for the phone and holds it to his exposed ear.

“Hello?” he answers groggily, his eyes still closed.

“Why do you sound half asleep?” the voice questions, and it takes him a few seconds to realize who it belongs to.

“Mr. Stark?”  _ Why’s he calling? I thought he was mad. Did something happen?  _ His first thoughts land on a possible Avenger’s level threat, but Tony’s own mind goes in a completely different direction.

“I swear, if you’re passed out in an alley again-“

“What? No! I’m in bed,” Peter quickly defends, rolling onto his back and rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand.

“…It’s 4…pm.” Tony feels the need to slowly inform the kid. When silence is all that greets him, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “You were  _ supposed _ to be here over forty-five minutes ago. What’s the holdup and how many stitches does it need?” Peter holds back a groan and drapes an arm over his face.

“Zero, I’m not even  _ in  _ the suit.” If he had been more awake, he might've been more aware about how that doesn’t exactly sound like a reassuring thing.

“On what earth do you think it’s okay to go patrolling without a suit?!” Tony demands, a mix of panic and fear fueling his movements as Peter suddenly hears clanging in the background.

“No- that’s not-” This time, Peter does groan. “Mr. Stark, I’m  _ not  _ in the suit and I’m  _ not  _ hurt, okay? I just took a nap. That’s it,” he explains through sleep-ridden mumbles. The noises halt and for a few moments, there’s just silence.

“Promise?” It’s an odd request, especially coming from someone who doesn’t believe in the art of pinky promises, but Peter isn’t one to deny such a thing.

“Promise. Trust me, I learned my lesson the hard way about lying to you.” He pulls the covers closer as a wave of involuntary shivers pass over him at the thought of the ferry incident. That’s not something he likes to relive. Apparently neither does Tony, because the conversation falls silent again. Peter almost falls back asleep before Tony picks the discussion back up.

“So then,” he starts off, “why aren't you here? The pizza’s getting cold. I never thought you’d be someone to torture me by making me eat entire pizza by myself.” There's a hint of humor and something else that Peter can't quite place.

“Oh, I uh, I thought that…you wouldn't want me there after…” he answers honestly, saying just enough for Tony to get the gist. The man rubs a stressed hand down his face and internally curses.

“I’ll pick you up in five,” is all he says in response, causing Peter to awkwardly clear his throat.

“Okay.” And just like that, the call is ended. For a few seconds, his brain plays catch-up, not quite knowing what to do with the sudden bombardment of information. All he really knows is that he has to get up, get dressed, and face Tony’s disappointment. It’s not something he planned for, but nothing really phases him anymore.

So he does exactly that: musters the energy to get up, throws on some miscellaneous clothes, and makes his way to the ground floor. By the time he leaves the apartment building, an Audi with tinted windows is parked out front. With a sigh of resignation, he opens the door and slides inside, but doesn't look up. He can  _ feel _ Tony’s eyes on him and the car doesn't move, so he knows Tony has every intention of hashing it out right here.

“How are your…” Tony gestures to his own face and, to be honest, Peter forgot the amount of scrapes he had adorning his face. Peter absentmindedly touches one of the cuts on his cheek, but finds that it doesn't hurt.

“Healing,” Peter answers. Silence consumes them once again. His leg bounces, the rhythmic sound of his shoe against the rubber mat being the only sound between them. Tony clears his throat.

“Do you wanna start the impromptu sharing session, or should I? ‘Cause I got the pizza as a ‘sorry for losing my cool’ and I was expecting a, I don’t know, a ‘sorry for putting myself in mortal peril’ cheesecake from you.” His tone is upbeat, a contrast to the serious, glossed-over topics from yesterday’s events. The mild jokes are met with stale air and uncomfortable stillness. Tony’s usual coping mechanism doesn’t seem to be working. Instead, they have the opposite effect, and he notices all too late that Peter had tears running down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry…” Peter apologizes for what seems like the millionth time, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. He swiftly wipes the tears away with resentment and grips his jeans in an attempt to stay in control.

“Bud,” Tony turns in his seat to fully face him, “you’ve already apologized more times than either of us can count.” His tone is soft, but it doesn't alleviate the crushing pressure of guilt in Peter’s chest.  _ It’s not enough,  _ he thinks, but stays quiet. When the silence stretches, he hears Tony take a slow breath. “We both said our sorries, right?” Without looking up, Peter reluctantly nods with a sniff.

“I, I scared you and I didn’t mean to but I couldn’t just, just let that school bus have a head-on collision with that  _ thing  _ so…”  _ so I took the hit instead,  _ hangs in the stale, car air. His head is starting to pound from the ungodly concoction of anxiety, crying, and sleep deprivation.

“I understand why you did it. I don’t  _ want  _ you to go around getting hit by buses and I expect you to think of other, less contusion-inducing solutions in the future…but I understand,” Tony empathizes. It’s hard to admit, but it would be a bit hypocritical if he didn’t, considering he once flew a nuke through a wormhole. But this is  _ Peter _ , a sixteen year old kid with his whole life ahead of him, not one he wants to see get pummeled to death. “And it scares me because,” he awkwardly sighs and looks anywhere else, “because I care. And that’s, that's scary in itself. Now add that to seeing you go skidding into the road? Instant heart attack recipe, just add Peter.” The teen subconsciously chews at his cheek as his leg bounces. His mentor usually doesn’t do the whole sharing thing, and now that he has, Peter feels obligated to as well.

“I, uh, I thought you wouldn’t want me at the workshop,” he mutters, his hands fiddling with a loose string. “I didn’t wanna make you more upset and I couldn’t make myself text you and there were a lot of…not nice thoughts.” The admission is difficult to get through, and he doesn’t know if it makes any sense, but he got it out. That’s the first step. Tony is all too familiar with intrusive, negative thoughts telling you things that aren’t true, he’s just not used to being on this end.

“Don’t…Don’t ever let my inability to communicate discourage you,” Tony says with as much honestly as he can cram into his voice. Peter still refuses to look up, clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking. He doesn’t know if it’s the anxiety or adrenaline or both, but overall it just feels like weakness. “Hey, eyes up, kiddo.” The soft tone only makes him close his eyes as a rogue sob escapes. He brings up one of his shaking hands to his face to wipe away the new tears, but a gentle thumb beats him to it. This time, Peter does look up.

Warm, brown eyes stare back at him, the corners crinkled by a soft yet pained smile. He feels like he doesn’t deserve that much love in a single glance.

“I have this bad habit,” Tony quietly continues, “where I distance myself from the people I care about. When I get worried, my fight-or-flight kicks in. I think, ‘what else could I possibly do besides screw things up?’ So I panic. And I run. And I avoid because I don’t want to screw you up more than I already have.” His eyes glisten with bushes tears, mirroring the ones dripping from Peter’s chin. “I thought I was doing the right thing by giving you that space, but turns out I only did that ‘cause I was scared. I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t’ve run from it. That’s on me.” The words echo too close to the night of the ferry, but they have a different meaning now. There’s no accusations being thrown from either end, only sincerity and apologies. The back of Peter’s throat aches, knowing his voice will crack as soon as he tries to speak, and he hasn’t broken eye contact once.

“It’s on me too,” he shares the weight, voice heavy with emotion. “I didn't think, I just acted and, and I’d rather it be me than those kids.” He swallows thickly, staring back into his lap like avoidance will magically solve all his problems. “I forget that people hurt when I get hurt, ‘cause I can take it but people like you and May and Ned get worried and it’s…I forget.” Awaiting the long-winded speech of responsibility and self-preservation, he nervously picks at the seam of his shirt.

Instead of the spiel he’s already been exposed to before, Tony reaches over the divider and pulls Peter’s head to his shoulder. The inconvenience of the car doesn’t keep Tony from wrapping the kid in safe, reassuring arms with a hand pressed to the back of his head as Peter finally lets go of the stress and guilt he’s harbored. Peter hugs back with hands gripping Tony’s sleeves and face nestled into the jacket soaking up his pain. Gentle fingertips glide up and down Peter’s spine as quiet shushes envelope the small space around them. It feels like his entire body trembles accompanying the release of heartbreak and the sense of rejection he felt all night. The warmth serves to soothe his aching head and his eyes burn against closed lids. He could fall asleep right there in Tony’s arms.

“It’s gonna be okay, kid. We’ll work through it like we always do,” Tony softly assures with just as much harrowed emotion lining his voice. He wants nothing more than to be able to guide them over to a couch or sit them down on a bed, but the car limits his comforting to what he can only do in the present. And for now, that means holding his kid as securely as he can while Peter allows himself to simply feel.

“Sometimes being a superhero sucks,” Peter’s honest, muffled voice fills his own ears. These are the moments where he doesn’t realize he needs a hug until he’s given one, and suddenly the unbridled pressure in his chest begins to lessen.

“Yeah,” Tony agrees with a sigh. “Yeah, it does. But you’re the best one yet.” He says the words without thinking, but he doesn’t take them back. They’re the truth and he doesn’t regret them for a second. Hearing that from his hero means more than Peter could ever put into words. It starts the waterworks all over again and he swears he’s never felt so much all at once. He’s not even sure if he’s processing it all, but it sure as hell feels relieving to have the comfort amongst it all. After a few more minutes, he slowly pulls away with a weak smile.

“Do you still want that cheesecake?” Peter offers with a light chuckle, wiping away the remaining tears. Tony lifts a hand to wipe one of the tears, but rests it on the kid’s cheek instead.

“We’ll make a stop on the way back to the Tower,” he promises, giving one last smile before getting settled into his own seat. Peter’s smile broadens, grateful that they could work everything out despite both of their fears. As he buckles himself up, Tony surprises him again. “I’m proud of you, by the way. I’m proud of what you did…and who you are. I’m proud of you, Peter.” The teen stares at him in a mixture of shock and admiration and love. Those words, that he can’t remember hearing from his dad and wishes he could hear again from Ben, have come from Tony. They mean more to him than Tony realizes…and he means more to Tony than either of them dare to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜
> 
> If you'd like to keep up to date on upcoming fics and get sneak peeks, feel free to follow one of my accounts!
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**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just need a good dose of Peter and Tony hurt/comfort :') It helps me get a lot of thoughts and feelings out <3
> 
> Thank you for reading!🖤🤎❤️️🧡💛💚💙💜
> 
> If you'd like to keep up to date on upcoming fics and get sneak peeks, feel free to follow one of my accounts!
> 
> Instagram: kevy_fanfics  
> Tumblr: kevyfanfics  
> Twitter: Kevy_Fanfics


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